Kiss the Cook
by Mesita
Summary: CABIN PRESSURE, Eventual Martin/Arthur. Martin is down on his luck again until he realizes he's had a friend this whole time. As it turns out, Arthur may not be such a clot after all.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Kiss the Cook  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG (this chapter)  
><strong>Words<strong>: 3484 this chapter  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Eventual _Martin/Arthur_  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own Cabin Pressure because I am nowhere NEAR as awesome as John Finnemore or the BEEBEECEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Martin is down on his luck again until he realizes he's had a friend this whole time. As it turns out, Arthur may not be such a clot after all.

Note: I have a Beta, and will probably re-upload chapters as time goes to fix errors. The Beta'd chapters will immediately go to my LiveJournal (mesitas). This place is like an invisible flash drive! And a test run!

Martin Crieff had always had a love/hate relationship with summer.

On the one hand, Martin thought the summer was a most beautiful season. The scorching sun never bothered him (it gave him an excuse to wear his Aviator Shades, after all), the lack of snow was always reassuring, and the entire Northern Hemisphere had a tendency to go on holiday. This common occurrence often meant that the crew of MJN Air benefited from visiting some very exquisite locations. Every summer, Carolyn was very meticulous about keeping the schedule tight. In fact, the schedule was so cram-packed during the summer months that Martin had very little time for anything else.

For someone who wanted to be a pilot as bad as Martin, this would normally be deemed as a 'slice of heaven,' and it was! –for the most part. It would have been infinitely more wonderful if Martin were paid to fly the rich and famous to various island resorts. Nothing stung worse than listening to the whimpers and complaints of spoiled children and old folk with nasty tempers. The plane was either too bumpy or too boring or the flight was too long or not long enough. Martin was constantly thankful that he had very little contact with the passengers when they happened to be that ignorant type.

Perhaps, however, the more pressing problem Martin faced every summer was the problem of keeping himself afloat. With the never-ending flights and minimal layovers, Martin had to choose between sleeping and making money—and sometimes he could barely do either. It was nearly impossible to manage a solid seven or eight hour's rest and still manage his moving company. Icarus Removals had so few calls, that when Martin received any at all, he would take the job, no matter how big or small—so long as it paid well enough (he would even transport an orca if it really came to that. No matter how he would do it—it would get done!).

Summer was also the worst month for Martin's living conditions. Most classes were not in session, and those that were, were few and far between. When times were particularly desperate, Martin would sneak in amongst the students of the shared house and nip at the food (although usually there was not much to go by, but some leftover crisps, which are never filling). However, as this was so often a transition time between students and holidays, the electricity was never accounted for and this led to a boiling hot attic.

And so Martin found himself so often trying to sleep in a small, stuffy space, his stomach growling and his heart less happy to be a pilot and leaning more toward giving it all up. Every summer he battled with this issue, and every fall the optimistic side of him won. Once the weather cooled and the harvests came in, food was generally cheaper and his attic was generally more comfortable and the selection of student food was generally more various.

It was hard to imagine the light at the end of the tunnel in the middle of July, but sometimes he swore he could see a flicker.

Martin had found a fiver crunched in the corner of the hold as he helped Douglas and Arthur remove one of their wealthier client's belongings. As the bill was not _in_ any bag, and smashed to the side as if it had been dropped a week before and no one was the wiser, Martin picked it up and deftly shoved it into his sock so as not to draw attention to himself. He liked to think of it as a gratuity tip for a piloting job well done, and seeing as he was the Captain, he did not need to report it to the other members of his crew.

Those five pounds had gotten him a very tasty meal.

Martin's joy, however, was incredibly and unfortunately short-lived. While the weather proved to be quite lovely when he set foot into the market, the unpredictable summer weather had brought on a splash of isolated storms. Leave it to mid-July to have nearly clear skies with maybe one or two clouds hanging about one minute, and the next minute one of those clouds grows a temper and all but pisses on Fitton, or, more specifically, Martin Crieff.

He did his best to rush under the overhang of a nearby shop, but the damage had already occurred. Soggy bread roll sandwiches did not sound appetizing. He could still salvage the lettuce, cheese and meat, probably, but the most filling part of his meal was essentially ruined. Martin cursed loudly and brainstormed a plan of action.

Option one was to run home in the rain. It was not as if his food could become any more ruined, and he was already pretty wet.

Option two was to wait until the storm passed and then walk home. The problem with that option was that it was nearly impossible to tell just how long the rain would last, and he was on a time crunch.

He had no money for a taxi. Hailing a cab was useless anyway, for the market was a short walk from where he stayed. He could have easily taken his van, but he wanted to save on petrol and the walk wasn't that far. Martin was beginning to favor the idea of walking home in the rain. So, with a large sigh and a moment to recompose himself, Martin stepped out into the pouring rain.

Martin trudged ahead with his head hung down. He did not bother to step around the puddles, as there was no use in it anymore. His socks were soaked already, and he could not help but feel particularly down about himself at that moment.

Why couldn't the heavens open up and give _him_ a break for once? It seemed like everyone else that chose to follow their dreams made it in the world, so why couldn't he? He only failed the pilot's exams because he was too nervous. He knew every handbook inside and out but he never tested well, and that had been his downfall.

Martin shook his head. This was no time to feel sorry for himself! Then he paused a moment and nearly whimpered. Oh, yes it was. His life was a wreck; a sham. He should have been happy with a first officer's position, but he had wanted to be captain so badly, that he let Carolyn talk him into working for free. He wished to every higher power out there that he could learn to be more assertive. In the past, every time he had ever been assertive, things had looked up for him even if just for a moment.

At that thought, Martin grinned and picked up his stride. He was going to walk proudly in the rain. He had a shelter and a meal and a job. He may have been broke, but he had friends. Even if Carolyn, Douglas and Arthur weren't related to him by blood, he had spent so much time with his crew that they were nearly forced to become friends if they wanted to survive days on end with each other.

Yes, Martin was going to be assertive and proud and amazing and nothing could make him change his mind.

That was, until a car unceremoniously swerved by and splashed a considerable amount of water all down Martin's right side. He would have cursed loudly, but he didn't want any dirty water to fly into his mouth. He could tolerate being soaked, but the griminess of the tar and asphalt was something else entirely.

The car in question had pulled up to the curb and stopped and the window began to roll down. Martin, wanting very much to use his newfound need to be assertive, stepped up the vehicle to give the driver a piece of his mind when suddenly:

"I'm sorry, Skip! I just saw you walking in the rain and I wanted to give you a bit of a lift!"

The telltale cheerfulness of Arthur Shappey's voice sounded out over the pounding of rain on the sidewalk, buildings and car. Martin did a double-take. He'd had a string of insults ready, but seeing as this was Arthur, he'd had to tone down his assertiveness level only a little.

"Arthur!" He exclaimed. "Look at me, I'm soaked!"

"Sorry again, Skip," Arthur said, obviously leaning over to see Martin on the other side of the car. "But would you like to get in? I can take you home if you like."

Martin hesitated. Arthur behind the driver's wheel was a little unsettling, but now that he thought about it, this was Carolyn's car. He hadn't noticed before because it didn't really stand out, and he was just a bit preoccupied. If Carolyn trusted her son enough to allow him to drive her car every so often, he really couldn't be that bad of a driver. After just a moment of deliberation, Martin got into the passenger's side and shut the door.

"Thank you, Arthur…" Martin began, settling back into the seat. Carolyn would probably get angry to find that her car was becoming soaked due to Martin's wet clothing, but this was nice. He hadn't quite anticipated this turn of events. He could even think a little more clearly now that the cold rain wasn't pounding on his head.

Arthur smiled, "Oh, it's all right, Skip. Where can I take you?"

"Oh, well, it's just around the corner and a few blocks down—" he stopped. Arthur didn't know where Martin lived, yet. The only person to whom Martin had confided was Douglas, and Douglas hadn't told anyone, save probably his wife. The last thing Martin needed was for Arthur to feel sorry for him even more than he probably already did.

"Something wrong?"

"Oh no… no, nothing's wrong. Nothing. Um. Actually, there are repairs being done to my house right now, so I can't go in."

"Oh, well, where are you staying then? In a hotel?"

"A hotel would be infinitely nicer than my place…" Martin said under his breath, glaring out the window as if it had done him some great wrong.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I'm just staying with a friend." Martin said, expecting Arthur to pull the car out and they could be on their merry way, but Arthur surprised Martin in that he hesitated before putting the car in gear. Martin gave him an inquisitive look.

"Well, you know, you could have asked to stay with me while the repairs are being done, I won't mind."

"Arthur, you live with our employer, who also happens to be your mother."

"Yes, but it's really quite a big place for just two people. And, I don't know, remember that time when we were driving that baggage truck in Spain? I thought we got along really well back then."

"Well, yes…" Martin trailed off. Arthur did have a point. And Martin really wouldn't mind having some elbow room for a change. "But what about my things? We'll have to stop by and pick up my uniform, at least."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Skip. We'll get it later." Arthur said in his usual cheery tone and finally pulled away from the curb.

Martin wanted to point out that it would be easier to pick his things up as they were just a few blocks away from where he stayed, but the thought of staying in a warm room with a good meal was overwhelming, even if it would just be for a few hours. He'd have Arthur drop him off when they were ready to get back to the airport. "Thanks for this, Arthur. I... I owe you one."

Arthur beamed with more pride than was necessary. "It's no problem. Not at all. It should be fun, shouldn't it?"

"Fun?" Martin couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the young steward.

"Well, yeah. We can have sorts of sweets and watch telly or a DVD. I don't really get to do that with someone else very often. It'll be brilliant!"

"I was thinking of getting something to eat and then taking a nap before the flight."

Arthur frowned. "Well, that's boring."

"Boring, yes, but also necessary." Martin sighed. "I need my sleep."

"Well, sometimes, and don't tell mum, but when she isn't on board, I nod off for a bit in the galley."

"That's because if it's a cargo flight or the passengers don't require assistance, you have the time to do that!" Martin pointed out in frustration. "I can't readily just fall asleep at the controls. I'm the captain."

"Why don't you just let Douglas fly the plane?" Martin stared at Arthur incredulously and when Arthur glanced over to see why Martin was so quiet, he caught glimpse of the look and cowed. "Oh, right."

Martin settled back into the seat. It was getting pretty uncomfortable with him in his wet clothing, but things could have been worse. Arthur, on the other hand, was actually quite capable of driving the two of them through a rainstorm without crashing the car. He had both hands on the wheel and had turned the windshield wipers up faster than was needed, but Martin didn't mind. He was mostly impressed with how meticulous Arthur was in making sure he followed all the rules of the road. He used all the proper signals at the proper times and even checked all of his mirrors before making any turns or lane changes.

"Arthur…" Martin began, "Who taught you how to drive?"

"Oh, um. It was my dad, actually."

"Gordon?"

"Yeah… I'm rubbish, aren't I?"

"No, quite the opposite. You're very thorough. I was just thinking that Carolyn couldn't possibly have taught you." Martin stole a glance at Arthur to see that he was beaming again. He had to admit, it was a little odd to see that Arthur thought of himself as rubbish at driving. In fact, Martin didn't know that rubbish was in Arthur's vocabulary. Though, now that he thought about it, after he'd met Gordon, he could probably take a stab at how Arthur's driving lessons were. It certainly explained his attention to detail and specifics—something that Martin had never seen Arthur do on GERTI, before. Furthermore, he wasn't even playing Yellow Car due to his concentration. Martin did not mind one bit.

"So, Skip. Why were you out there in the rain?" Arthur said, changing the subject.

Martin looked down at his derelict bag of groceries. "I was picking up some dinner, but I suppose it's ruined, now."

Arthur took no hesitation in seizing the opportunity. "I could make something for you, if you like."

Martin remembered the Surprising Rice and cringed. "Um… thanks Arthur, but I can manage."

"Oh! No.. no no, I mean, when I have proper ingredients I can make some really nice food. We just have limited items on GERTI."

"You can cook, Arthur?"

"Without a microwave? Yes."

"Huh." Martin glanced at his food and shrugged. He wasn't completely convinced, but he figured he would at least try it, so long as whatever Arthur cooked at least appeared edible. If push came to shove, he would just eat the insides out of his sandwiches and be done with it.

The two of them rode on in silence, with only the sound of the windshield wipers and the splash of tires on water as other cars drove by. Soon, they reached the gate of the Shappey household and Arthur buzzed them inside.

Martin had been to Carolyn's place before several times, but always for business. Coming here for a personal call felt a bit awkward, and Martin prayed silently that Carolyn was out. The house was grand and impressive. It was by no means a mansion, but held more rooms than was required for two people. So far, Martin had only seen the yard and the foyer, and he had to admit that he was curious to see the rest of the place. He had long since gotten past any jealously he'd harbored for his employer and her son. Some people were simply blessed with money, it seemed. Martin was used to the shit storm that happened to be his life, but every so often it got to him.

Arthur parked the car in the adjoining garage and the two of them made their way inside. Martin had always gone in the front entrance, before, but the side door that connected to the garage felt strangely personal. In a way, using the front door felt like a simple transition from being a stranger to a houseguest, but entering a home though the garage door felt like he was trespassing on someone else's property. Arthur, of course didn't seem to mind, in fact, he was chattering away about nothing in particular.

"—and that's when I snuck up on him, just to see if I could do it. But… but I couldn't. He heard me and he swung his arms around and nearly popped me right in the—Oh, here we are. Myself would like to welcome yourself to the humble establishment that is the home of myself and my birth mother accordingly. Please, for your happy convenience, remove your foot encasements so as not to track onto the carpet today with trackings from your steps. It is in yourself's best interest to not be concerned with the canine on the premises as it is harmless. Now if yourself will follow myself—"

"Arthur!" Martin cut the steward off while holding back laughter. "I'm just me, not a passenger."

"Right." Arthur breathed. "Sorry. I'm so used to it. It's fun, isn't it?"

"What, to rattle on like that? For you, maybe."

"Yeah…"

"Where can I go to wash up? I'm about to catch cold any minute, and Carolyn would have my head if I'm sick."

"Oh, in here." Arthur walked past the kitchen, to a hallway and opened a door. "I'll be in the kitchen."

"Thank you…" Martin entered the wash room and nearly doubled over. This, too, was larger than necessary. He could fit his entire bed on the floor. He sighed and began to undress. He hadn't thought about it until now, but he would need some kind of change of clothing. He looked about the room and saw a bathrobe hanging on the backside of the door. It was embarrassing, but there was nothing left in this day to get even more embarrassed about anymore, so Martin shrugged and simply began to continue peeling off his wet clothes.

The shower was superb. He hadn't had a hot shower like that in a long time. And because of that, he took longer than necessary to just enjoy it. He had no qualms about using the soap and shampoo. Anyone who lived in a massive house like this wouldn't miss a little bit of cleansing product.

The shower also gave Martin time to think. He would have to talk to Arthur about not mentioning this to Douglas. They still had ten hours before they both needed to get back to the hangar. That was plenty of time to get some sleep in and be back at his place to get changed back into his pilot's uniform.

When Martin emerged from the shower, a rather pleasing aroma filled his senses and he followed the scent to the kitchen. "That smells wonderful, Arthur what are you-" He stopped, dead in his tracks.

Arthur was listening to headphones, dancing awfully in the kitchen wearing a 'Kiss the Cook' Apron.

Martin shrank back out of the kitchen, his face red. How could he interrupt _that_?


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Kiss the Cook  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG (this chapter)  
><strong>Words<strong>: 3542 this chapter  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Eventual _Martin/Arthur_  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own Cabin Pressure because I am nowhere NEAR as awesome as John Finnemore or the BEEBEECEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Martin is down on his luck again until he realizes he's had a friend this whole time. As it turns out, Arthur may not be such a clot after all.

**Note**: This story is really just me having a bit of fun in my spare time. I'm a big fan of slow progression, so if you would like to read this story as a WIP, I hope you have a lot of patience!

The best and only word to describe Martin Crieff at that particular moment in his life was: awkward.

He tried to think back to the events that caused him to find himself in nothing but a bathrobe in Arthur Shappey's hallway, while his host sang and danced around in the kitchen wearing an embarrassing apron. The worst of it was that he was _happy_ at the moment as opposed to, well, the exact opposite of happy, which he generally was.

And Arthur barely had to do anything to put Martin in this state! The young steward simply found him, picked him up and transported him to a land of elbow room and hot showers.

Martin peeked again around the corner, and Arthur had danced himself around to where he could easily see the captain. He took the opportunity to step back into the kitchen and clear his throat.

Arthur popped out an ear bud. "All washed up? Dinner's almost ready."

"What are we having?"

"It's a surprise!"

Martin would have objected, but the food smelled so good and his stomach growled so loudly, that he figured he could chance it. "Listen, do you think, maybe, I could borrow some clothing? Mine's all wet, you see."

"Oh, yeah… alright," Arthur said as he turned around and lowered the heat of the pot on the stove. "My room is just upstairs. Follow me."

The fact that Arthur was just so comfortable with everything rubbed off on Martin and he couldn't help but relax in the steward's presence. If Douglas ever found out about the goings-on here, no matter how completely innocent, neither of them would ever hear the end of it. And, seeing as Martin had to spend most of his time on the flight deck with Douglas, he felt he had the worst part of the deal. He had to keep reminding himself that Douglas was not there. Carolyn, apparently, was not there, either. It was just himself and Arthur, and depending on their capacity for keeping secrets, everything would continue as normal afterward.

Right.

Arthur's room was, well, it was Arthur's room. It appeared that after their trip to Qikiqtarjuaq, Arthur had really taken to his new book about bears. Or, Martin reasoned, maybe he had always been into the animal, and Martin had never known that that was how he had chosen to decorate his room. Nevertheless, he didn't dwell on the subject and happily accepted the solid white tee and what looked like workout shorts. They would be a little loose, but there was a drawstring on the shorts that would help a great deal.

"You know, Arthur, you really don't have to go through all this trouble."

"It's no trouble at all, Skip, really!"

"Really?"

"Well, yeah! You're always so nice to me, even though Douglas says I'm a clot," Arthur said, beaming a little that he had remembered the word correctly. Martin thought it odd that one should be happy about getting one's own insult correct.

"Well, you're just… you and everyone has their quirks, I guess…." Martin stumbled through his words, as he tried to sound nice without sounding very complimentary. Arthur really did step up to the plate when he was really needed, and it seemed he really did try his best.

Martin knew all about trying one's best only to find out that one's best wasn't good enough.

Arthur just appeared much happier about his situation, though. "Gee, thanks, Skip! Oh! I'd better go check on the dinner!" he said with his usual grin and headed briskly back down the stairs.

Dinner was actually lovely. Martin was astonished to the point of disbelief.

Arthur could drive a car without crashing.

Arthur could cook a decent meal.

Arthur was as kindhearted and generous as he appeared to be.

Martin was absolutely floored.

With Carolyn and Douglas constantly demeaning him, it was no wonder Arthur was the way he, well, was. The brief meeting Martin had had with Gordon also solidified Arthur's lifelong tolerance for teasing, and he appeared to come out the better for it.

Martin felt a twinge of shame for feeling so down on himself before. Sure he had a crappy living situation, but he had a roof over his head. He had a terrible, low-paying job, but it was money. He couldn't afford anything more than a couple pounds of groceries a week, but he did get some free meals while flying GERTI. He didn't get paid to fly, but he got to see different parts of the world, and soar high above the clouds—something about which most men dared only dream.

He chuckled to himself as he spooned another bite of the stew Arthur had prepared.

Arthur looked up from his bowl. "Does it taste funny?"

Martin blinked and looked up. "What? Oh, no… no, it doesn't. It's pretty good, actually."

Arthur beamed.

"It's just, Arthur… you've managed to cheer me up without really saying anything."

"Oh. Did I?"

"Yeah."

"Brilliant! … How so?"

"Well, you're just… you're being you. You're your usual happy self."

"Well, yeah, I'm always my happy self."

"Why is that?"

"Why is what?"

"Why are you so happy?"

"Oh, I don't know, Skip. There's _loads_ to be happy about. Do I need to remind you to toss an apple back and forth a bit to be cheered up?" Arthur said, making a movement to get up and head into the kitchen to grab the fruit.

Martin stopped him. "No, I'll survive without the apple. I just can't find anything to be happy about."

"Wow…. Well, that's where you're wrong."

"Oh?" Martin leaned back in his chair. Never mind that he had just had a little burst of optimism he absorbed through Arthur via osmosis. He wanted to hear it from Arthur.

"You're a brilliant pilot."

"I failed the test! Multiple times!"

"Yes, but you passed eventually, right? That's saying something! I never passed!"

"You never took the test."

"But you did, Skip." Arthur leaned forward. "And you didn't stop until you passed."

"Yes, well, it would have been a waste of money if I didn't keep going for it…" Martin said as he looked down at his empty bowl. Why couldn't they have delicious meals like this on GERTI? Surely Arthur could whip something up here and bring it along, especially on cargo flights. He had already had seconds and thought he was being particularly greedy at the time, but Arthur had already finished his fourth round.

"You're also really brilliant. I mean, you know why a plane can leave the ground!"

Martin grinned a little to himself. Why didn't he look to Arthur before for a bit of cheering up? Of course he looked brilliant to Arthur. Everything looked brilliant to Arthur.

But perhaps Arthur was the only one who could find brilliance in Martin, and Martin needed that.

Martin sighed and gathered his dishes to be brought back to the kitchen. It was time for a peaceful rest before they both had to go back to work. "To be fair, Arthur, but you know why a plane can leave the ground, now."

"Nah, I forgot."

Martin had the best sleep of his life during that layover between jobs. The guest bed on which he slept proved to be comfortable and clean and so fluffy Martin could feel himself sink at least a few inches into the mattress before he settled down for a few hours. When the Simpson's alarm on his watch woke him up in the wee hours of the morning, Martin had no trouble rubbing the sleep from his eyes. This rest would probably get him through a few nights worth of terrible rest.

He did, however, have to wake up Arthur. His own uniform and his clothing were still at the Agricultural College, and he needed a ride over to at least pick up his van. Carolyn had been out, probably with Herc, which gave Arthur the full use of her car. However, Martin was not quite sure if Carolyn was back yet, and he felt it would avoid an awkward moment if he snuck out before she noticed.

Martin felt like a secret agent as he dashed about the hall ducking his head quickly through each doorway to make sure the room was empty before he moved onto the next. He crept slowly between rooms, scared to death that he would step on an old, creaky floorboard and wake up the entire neighborhood.

When at last he reached Arthur's bear-filled room, he entered quietly. It was hard to think of a way to wake the sleeping steward without startling him too much. Martin thought briefly about covering his mouth so he couldn't scream, but Arthur's mouth was wide open in a snore, a bit of drool forming at the edge of his lip. He had kicked off the blankets and his limbs were sprawled all over the bed in every which direction.

It was so…. _Arthur._

Martin opted to simply creep to the bed and shake a shoulder. When that did not work, he leaned in, whispering loudly, "Arthur!"

Arthur's eyes shot open, but no other muscle in his body even twitched. He lay there, frozen with his eyes wide enough to make perfect circles. "What did I do this time?" His voice was deadpan.

Martin opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water as he fought for words, "You didn't do anything, you—"

"Oh! It's just you, Skip." Arthur had transformed suddenly. His limbs were moving again and he began to sit up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. "I thought it was mum trying to tell me I left the stove on. What time is it? Are we late?"

"No, we're not late," Martin said and glanced again at his watch to be sure. "But I need to go back to where my van is. My uniform is there."

"Oh, right, yes. We should get going, then." Arthur stood up and stretched. His white sleeping shirt did not stretch with him, but rather seemed to shrink, exposing his generous midriff. Martin had no idea why he looked, so he turned around briskly.

Martin cleared his throat. "Yes, so it would be better if you changed into uniform, and drove me over."

Martin left to gather his soaked clothing. In a few short moments, both he and Arthur were back in Carolyn's car and on their way to the share house. Martin let Arthur go on ahead of him. He would see him later at the hangar, anyway. He could drive himself in his van, just like always.

Arthur seemed hesitant to go. "We can ride together, you know. I always ride with mum."

"That's because you two live together, and have the one car between you." Martin pointed out. "Go home, you have plenty of time. You can ride up with Carolyn just like always."

"Okay." Arthur momentarily looked like he wanted to hang his head like a beaten dog, but instead he stood up straight and put on his usual cheerful smile. "See you on GERTI, then, eh, Skip?"

"Yeah," Martin smiled, "Yeah, in a bit. And thanks, Arthur, thanks again."

Arthur grinned broadly and got back into his mother's car. He waved hysterically to his captain before leaving, as if this were the last time they would see each other.

Martin turned around and went into the share house, taking the usual route up to his attic room. Arthur wasn't so bad to be around for long lengths of time. In fact, he held quite enjoyable company. After being in the cockpit with Douglas for so long, Martin sometimes held a low opinion of his cabin crew member, but he needed to remind himself almost on a regular basis that when Douglas wasn't around, both he and Arthur were quite capable of managing on their own.

In the days that followed, Martin had a hard time finding ways to talk to Arthur properly. In his mind, he rather wanted to have normal conversations with the steward, but the universe liked to make Martin feel as awkward as possible at every given moment, and he found it nearly impossible.

Why was it so hard to get past the usual greetings? Martin had never had something he could think of as a true friend before. He had Douglas, but he was always trying to seek approval from his first officer, which he thought was rather tiring, but he was fairly certain that Douglas did not think of him as a friend in return. Therefore, Martin had always had a sort of respect for Douglas—the type of respect one would have for a very neat uncle, but never a father. It was also hard to be friends with someone who beat you at everything.

Arthur appeared to want to continue building on his friendship with Martin, as well, but Douglas did not help matters. He had noticed Arthur popping into the flight deck for more reasons than to bring the cheese tray.

One morning, just after Martin had made the cabin address for a rowdy bunch of college students on their way to China to go backpacking along the mountains, the flight deck door opened to reveal one Arthur Shappey.

"Morning chaps!"

Douglas spun around in his seat. "Ah, Arthur! Here with some morning coffee?"

"Oh… no. Should I go make some coffee?"

Douglas looked perplexed. "Is there a more pressing reason that you need to be on the flight deck first thing in the morning without coffee?"

Arthur shifted a little, "Well, I just thought that maybe-"

"That maybe," Douglas drawled, "you should get us some coffee."

Martin felt the need to defend Arthur, a feeling that hadn't yet presented itself fully. "Arthur was just wondering how we would like our coffee this morning, you know, before he made it."

"I'll take mine, the same way I always take it," Douglas said. "Martin, have you become a coffee connoisseur over night?"

Martin pursed his lips. "No, I'll just take my coffee the same way I always take it, Douglas."

"Then Arthur need not worry about deviation from his normal coffee-making routine," Douglas said smoothly before turning back to a rather confused Arthur. "Please, don't let us deter you from your duties, Arthur."

"But Douglas, I really need to speak to the Captain."

"Is there an emergency?"

"Not as such, but-"

"The captain is flying the plane."

"You're the first officer. Can't you fly it for a bit?"

"Well, I _can, _but the real question is if I _will._ Arthur, with as much respect as I can give without sounding like myself, if it's not an emergency, the captain should not leave the flight deck."

Martin pulled himself away from absent-mindedly checking all of the dials, to glance at Douglas and mirror Douglas' usual look of sarcasm, "Oh, but I can leave the cabin to look for a lemon."

"That's different."

"How?"

"I said you could."

Martin scoffed. "Well, seeing as I am the captain, and I _say I can, _I'll just go with Arthur, then. You can take over."

"But…." Arthur cut in, a little timidly, "I don't need you to leave. I just need to talk to you."

"Well, then." Douglas settled himself into his chair. "Whatever it is, you can say it in front of me."

Suddenly, Arthur made a face as the signal came on for him to assist a passenger, "Well I can't now," and he disappeared into the fuselage.

Martin and Douglas exchanged looks. "You seem particularly… you, today," Martin commented.

Douglas turned to the view ahead. The day was drab, a low fog had settled over the land, so it appeared as if they were flying over a vast sea of gray. "It's the weather, Martin. I can't handle cheerfulness right now."

Martin suspected it was something else, but he didn't press. Not today. When Douglas was in a bad mood, it could be bad for everyone. Seeing as this was a flight to Lhasa high on the Tibetan Plateau, and would take over twelve hours to complete, Martin didn't want to spend the next twelve hours in the company of one angry Douglas Richardson. "Ah," was all he said, instead.

The following silence caused the awkwardness to hang in the air worse than the fog over which they were flying. Martin managed to fiddle with the dials so much he could no longer find it credible to continue, so he fussed through the pilot's log, only to find that he had everything so organized, he couldn't do much with it. The silence pounded on his ears to the point that he was certain they were turning as red as his hair.

In frustration, he turned to his first officer and blurted out, "What's making you so mad, Douglas?"

"Why Martin, seeing you writhe over there just about cheered me up."

"Well, that's a relief."

Douglas feigned being hurt. "You can't possibly mean you aren't sympathetic to my plight?"

"I never said anything about your _plight_, Douglas."

"Well, as it just so happens, you're probably the only person I can talk to about this." Douglas sighed heavily and rubbed his brow in concentration. Martin had never seen Douglas this upset about something since he heard of his fourth wife's infidelity.

Martin raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure whether I should feel flattered or scared."

Douglas gave him _that look_ and Martin gave a little gesture for Douglas to continue in response. "It's my wife."

Martin cringed, a little. He figured as much.

"She's thinking of leaving me, you see."

"For that tai chi instructor?" Martin asked, but immediately wished he hadn't. The look on Douglas' face said everything.

"I should be happy about it," Douglas mused. "At least she is leaving me the house. She's literally leaving me for him. It's a big improvement on my other wives who had me booted from the scene. I won't have to look for a hotel or desperate lodgings this time round."

"I'm so sorry, Douglas." Martin couldn't help but to express his deepest sympathies. Douglas had spoken nothing but good things about his wife, and even though Martin was no expert on the subject, it was clear the first officer loved his significant other with most, if not all of his heart.

"So I can't possibly bear to have anyone be cheerful in my presence, you see."

"It makes perfect sense. I mean, I understand perfectly. Well, no, not that I understand. I can't understand, I've never had a wife, but I can see where you're coming from." Martin stumbled over his words. It was hard to cheer someone else up, especially someone he looked up to as having such a perfect life. To think that Douglas could have problems astonished Martin.

"Oh, Martin," Douglas drawled in that sarcastic manner of his. "You have such a way with words."

"Would you rather play a game to keep your mind off things?" If anything, Douglas could beat Martin in a game of basically anything and he would feel better. Maybe this time Martin wouldn't mind losing, just this once.

"I can't think of anything right now," Douglas muttered.

"Passenger derby?"

"It's too soon in the flight…. And I assume you will object to the Traveling Lemon?"

"Always."

"Then I am afraid we are at an impasse." Douglas lifted his hands in dismay.

At that moment, the cabin door opened and Arthur stuck his head in again. "Am I allowed to talk to the captain, yet?" he asked.

Before Douglas could reply, Martin spun around. "Yes, Arthur, what is it?"

"Oh, um, I was wondering if, maybe, you would like to go sightseeing with me," He said, and then added, for clarity, "When we get to Lhasa." Arthur had a rather hopeful look on his face.

"Why Arthur!" Douglas interjected. "Are you asking Martin out on a _date?"_

"No!" Arthur did his best to look dignified. "It's just, we'll be there for a few days since we haven't anything booked until the students have their return flight, and we'd be awfully bored if we just sat around with old GERTI all day, right?"

"Yes, but _Martin_?"

"-HEY!"

Arthur frowned. "Well, you wouldn't want to come with us."

"I'm hurt, Arthur." Douglas frowned. "You would leave me all by my lonesome?"

"Well, mum will be here."

"I am positively teeming with delight."

"Well, all right, Douglas, if you want to come, you can," Arthur said.

Douglas grinned. "I am so thankful for your permission."

Martin stepped in, "What Douglas means—" and he gave his first officer a sharp stare, "is that we would both love to see the sights with you, Arthur. You can be in charge of the itinerary!"

"But—" Douglas started.

"BRILLIANT!" Arthur declared.

"It's settled," Martin smiled, and Arthur all but skipped out the door, again.

Martin looked at Douglas with what he hoped was a look of satisfaction, but it disappeared the moment he saw Douglas laughing. Martin frowned.

"You look happy," Douglas crooned.

Martin looked taken aback. "I do?"

Douglas made another check on their position in a way that Martin was sure was staged for effect. "Well, yes, especially since he forgot our coffee."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Kiss the Cook  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG (this chapter)  
><strong>Words<strong>: 3501 this chapter  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Eventual _Martin/Arthur_  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own Cabin Pressure because I am nowhere NEAR as awesome as John Finnemore or the BEEBEECEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Martin is down on his luck again until he realizes he's had a friend this whole time. As it turns out, Arthur may not be such a clot after all.

Both Martin and Douglas (eventually) received their coffee. Despite this, Arthur continued with his (frequent) visits to the flight deck. As time wore on, Carolyn had to step in (numerous) times to pull her son back to the cabin and assist the passengers. She made a passing comment on her son's sudden obsession with the flight deck, but all Arthur could think about was how he would much rather be there than in the cabin.

Saying that college students were rowdy would have been a gross understatement. They preoccupied themselves on the flight with songs and jokes and discussions that started out innocent enough, but always ended in a heated debate. Arthur hated doing his usual rounds because several of the students had decided it would be great fun to belittle Arthur as much as possible. While Arthur thought most people were _brilliant_, a select few were just all right, and an even smaller percentage were hardly likeable.

He didn't mind the normal conversations; those were okay. When the discussions turned into shouting debates, Arthur would turn to the front of the plane (was it the fore or aft? He would probably never remember) and let his mother calm everyone down. It wasn't that he was afraid of the shouts, or that he felt incapable of making sure the students could be kept under control. He only hated when they tried to include him.

The first debate came from a discussion of clouds that had turned into a debate about religion ("It's like we're flying through heaven!"). One girl with impossibly straight teeth had asked Arthur whether or not he believed in heaven. He could feel his face going red as she searched the cabin for his mother. Her lessons never involved something like this! He simply answered, "Heaven… is… full of otters," and whirled around to the galley.

The second debate brought up another touchy subject: the economy. As college students, it was probably required to have a shouting match about every forbidden subject on the planet. A pompous young man had been giving a rather lengthy speech on the economic downturn over the past few years and stopped Arthur by the sleeve. "What do you think? Are major corporations choking small businesses? Has this airline suffered from a loss in profit margin?"

At first, Arthur didn't quite understand him over the shouts of everyone else and answered, "My self regrets to inform you that we do not have margarine onboard today, but could my self interest your self in some peanuts?"

"MARGIN," the student repeated.

Arthur scrunched his facial features in an attempt to hear the passenger over the buzz. "Martin? Oh, the captain? Shouldn't you call him the captain?" How come no one called Martin the captain?

"For God's sake, man!" The man ran a hand through his hair and turned to the passenger next to him, muttering.

Arthur didn't much care for what they were talking about. He could even care less if they were saying things about him (which they probably were). It wasn't like he was going to see them again after this whole round trip was over, and he had experienced much worse (Mr. Birling being one such experience). He knew just how to handle situations like this: think of something lovely and keep smiling. People always stopped bothering him once they found out they couldn't stop him from smiling.

Besides, some of the more quiet and studious passengers were very kind to Arthur and offered some very pleasant conversations. One girl in particular had a very soft demeanor. She had insisted upon knowing his name and used it throughout the duration of the flight. She said 'please' and 'thank you' and 'excuse me' (which rather impressed Arthur), and he came to think of her as a very lovely girl. She had short, sandy brown hair and a nose that was a little too big for her face, but made a very good rest for her glasses. Her name was Ellen Barton.

"Arthur," Ellen said as the steward rushed by. He felt safer in the galley, away from the awkward questions. When Ellen said his name, however, he stopped.

"Yes, Miss Barton," Arthur said with a smile. This part of his job was easy. He could answer her questions without panicking.

"You don't have to call me that," Ellen waved her hand in dismissal. "Just Ellen is fine."

"Oh, I couldn't Miss Barton. It wouldn't be right." Arthur looked around to see if his mother was watching. He spotted her wearing her best forced smile as she dealt with a passenger a few rows in front of him. "I promised mum I would be on my best behavior."

"Well," Ellen said with a giggle. "I won't get you in trouble, then. I only wanted to let you know not to worry about my peers. They are awful excited about this trip, you see, and it brings out the worst in them."

"Alright, thanks!" Arthur smiled and turned to go back to the galley, maybe the flight deck. Martin was on the flight deck. Arthur's stomach caught a little when he thought about Martin.

"And Arthur?"

Arthur paused and glanced back, "Yes, Miss Barton?"

"Pardon me if I am being forward, but would you mind asking the pilots if they would be so kind as to turn off the seatbelt light? We are almost an hour into our flight; surely we have reached our correct altitude?" Ellen said with a small smile on her lips.

Arthur glanced at the seatbelt light and his eyes widened. He thanked Ellen for the information and dashed back to the galley. Anything to get him away from the passengers and to talk to those he thought were simply brilliant; and especially to Martin. He picked up the intercom and buzzed the flight deck. "Hello chaps."

"Ah, Arthur…" Douglas' sarcastic drawl came through the intercom first and Arthur's spirits fell. He was hoping for the other pilot—the nicer one that liked his cooking. "What can we help you with this time? Are they debating about animal rights yet?"

"No, not yet," Arthur replied, then thought for a moment and then added, "Although, if they do, what should I say?"

"Tell them to sod off."

"OK!... Wait. Douglas!"

Carolyn burst into the galley at that moment, flustered and irritated. Arthur didn't catch what Douglas said next because Carolyn's voice drowned him out, "Arthur, the intercom is not a chatting service. How many times do I have to remind you?"

"Only once, mum," Arthur answered, and then quickly turned back to the intercom. "I need you to turn off the seatbelt warning, Douglas."

"Oh, is it about that time?" the drawl answered.

Arthur was about to answer back, when his mother ripped the intercom from his hands and began to address it sharply. "Douglas, you will turn that light off and you will do it now. I will not be having any races with my passengers today. Do you even understand what kind of madhouse it is in here?"

"I can only imagine."

"Then let's hope you have a good imagination. You don't have to deal with them, and I do. If you make their flight miserable, I will make you miserable, and we both know I am very capable of that." Her voice dripped with malice and evil intent. Arthur thought his mom would make a very good super villain.

"But I have a very good wager on this one!" Douglas protested. "Martin has agreed to—"

There came a shuffling noise, and Martin's voice rang in clear and Arthur couldn't help but smile. He didn't even realize he wasn't smiling before then. "To turn the light off, now," the captain finished for his first officer.

Douglas' voice could be heard in the background, faint, but definitive, "Oh, come, now…"

"No, Douglas," Martin said. "You may not care about the rest of this trip, but I do, and I don't want it ruined because you want to win."

"Oh, fine…"

A click sounded as Douglas must have switched the light off and Arthur braced himself for the storm ahead.

Voices died down as one by one the students realized the situation. There came a flurry of clicks as seatbelts unsnapped, tray tables moved into place, and several passengers stood up. Then came the pushing and the shoving, the quickened pace, the shouting, the slam of the door to the lavatory, and a collective moan from all those who had failed to claim the prize.

As the tension for the lavatory died down, so did the tension around the passengers as the excitement for the trip wore off. Arthur took this time to rest against the counters for a moment. It would still be a while before he had to start preparing dinners, so he had a bit of free time. Carolyn usually took this opportunity to go over paperwork by herself, so Arthur often took trips inside his head.

This was something he had been doing his entire life, and he found he quite enjoyed it. The inside of his head was always happy and everyone got along brilliantly. He didn't have to worry about job performance, or saying the wrong thing during touchy subjects. His decisions were the right decisions and things went well for everyone.

Speaking of everyone and their accompanying problems, Arthur found it easy to switch his mind over to one of his favorite subjects as of late: Martin Crieff—and Martin was always so full of problems. Arthur had always thought of Martin as a friend, ever since they first met. This was no uncommon occurrence, however, because Arthur always wanted to believe he was friends with everyone, until proved otherwise.

When his mother hired Martin, Arthur was only all too eager to talk to him. The smaller age gap came as a great relief to Arthur, seeing as his mother's previous pilots were always a bit on in their years and generally made Arthur feel a bit intimidated—but not Martin! Martin had introduced himself kindly and with a big handshake, and he talked every bit as much as Arthur did. Arthur thought him to be brilliant.

As time wore on, Martin's brilliance outwardly shone like a beacon to Arthur. Martin, ever the stickler for protocol, always appeared patient with Arthur when it came to facts about flying. He never used a condescending tone, and even if he did, Arthur didn't notice. He was biased, and he didn't care.

And then there was that time when Martin had asked him for a huge favor: to help drive him and a piano do Devon! Arthur! Douglas had deemed Arthur a clot, but Martin had believed in him. Really! He had! Arthur wasn't his default choice! He had faith in him!

Arthur grinned to himself, and if Carolyn noticed, she was used to her son's random bursts of cheer and said nothing.

Thinking about Martin had been taking up more and more of Arthur's time as of late. Ever since Martin had agreed to stay over at his place for a few hours, Arthur found it harder and harder to speak to his captain. Martin had always avoided coming over, before, and therefore Arthur's mind couldn't stop wrapping itself around the idea that something had changed between the two of them to make Martin actually accept the offer of hospitality.

Surely Martin had agreed to come over because he wanted to strengthen their friendship! It was not at all related to the fact that he was cold and hungry and tired and that a warm meal and a soft bed were more appealing than the alternative, whatever alternative that may have been. Arthur was firm in his convictions.

If Martin, in Arthur's head, liked Arthur, now, then why was it so hard for Arthur to find simple conversational topics for the two of them to discuss? He turned to the only person he knew could help.

"Say, mum…" Surely she would know what to do!

Carolyn's eyes did not leave her paperwork. She merely turned over a page and frowned at its contents. "Yes, dear heart?" she replied, absently.

"I need some really good conversation starters. You know, like when people can talk for hours about something other than the weather. Not that I don't like weather. Weather is _brilliant_… especially when the sky gets all dark and gray like it's about to storm and you feel like you're going to die. Well, I don't much like feeling like I'm going to die, but I do like the sense of adventure a storm brings!"

Carolyn pulled her eyes from the documents over which she had been scouring and stared her son in the face. A look of almost pity softened her features a bit. "Arthur, don't you bother with these passengers. They're all a bunch of loonies and not worth more than the time it takes to fly them to the Great Wall of China."

Arthur paused, "Mum…" He said, relaxing a little. Really, his mother should know where they were headed! "We're flying to Lhasa, not the Great Wall."

"I would much rather fly this lot _into_ the Great Wall."

"Lhasa has loads of mountains."

"A mountain would work, too. The snow can hide the bodies."

"Mum!" Arthur said with an appalled tone, but he didn't quite disagree with her. He didn't much like the passengers, but he didn't want to crash them into the side of a mountain. He would never admit it out loud, though. He and his mother were more alike than most people realized which is why he genuinely liked to live with her.

"And anyway," Arthur said, continuing on from before, "I'm not talking about talking to the passengers; I'm talking about—" he stopped. He almost didn't continue but his mother had his full attention. "A friend…"

"Oh, a friend, now?"

"Yeah, you know, a mate. A pal of mine. Someone I like being around."

If Carolyn was suspicious of anything, it was of Arthur having a friend. It didn't matter to her what her son did in his free time, but he spent most of it in one of two places: home or work. The idea of him having a friend that deviated from one of those two places was highly unlikely.

"All right, Arthur, I'll play along," Carolyn mused, fully aware she had said that out loud. "Just talk about what you know."

"What, like, bears? And Egypt? And making coffee?"

"Yes," Carolyn agreed. "And if he or she finds any of that boring, then they aren't worth your time."

Arthur sat quiet for a moment, his head nearly smoking with the amount of thinking that occurred. "Thanks mum," he said, after a while, but Carolyn had already gone back to her paperwork.

Douglas stretched in his seat. This was going to be a long flight—much longer than many other flights of the same persuasion due to the fact that he was stuck inside his mind with most unpleasant thoughts. He tried to think of a topic other than his soon to be ex-wife, but it was nearly impossible. So much so that when Martin had suggested they play a game, even Douglas' heart was not in it. To make matters worse, he hadn't slept too well before the flight, which was dangerous, he knew, but he felt as though he didn't have a choice.

Martin settled back into his pilot seat and glanced at his watch for the one hundredth time. "I can't believe they ruined passenger derby for us," he said after a while.

It was strange how Martin had been so eager to play that particular game. They had bet on embarrassing escapades the other had to perform during their stay in Lhasa. Douglas' mind was temporarily distracted as he brainstormed all of the different ways he could make Martin uncomfortable just for fun. Instead, he said, "I can't believe Arthur still isn't here with that coffee." He stole a glance back at the flight deck door. "Should we give him a ring?"

"I don't know…" Martin hesitated. "Those passengers seem pretty demanding. Carolyn hasn't even been up here since before we took off."

"No, she hasn't," Douglas agreed. "Although, I don't see a reason as to why we can't give them a bit of a buzz. Carolyn can't afford to have her only pilots fall asleep at the controls."

"Douglas, you aren't by any chance flying tired, are you?" Martin asked, trying not to let the panic show too much in his voice, but Douglas caught it. Martin really wasn't very good at hiding anything.

"Yes, Martin. I get my kicks staying up at all hours just to hop on board a flying metal death trap… and proceed to fall asleep while landing. Does this conflict with your flight plan?"

Martin frowned. "I'm serious, Douglas."

"So am I," Douglas crooned and leaned over to buzz the galley. "Arthur, are you particularly busy at this moment?"

Arthur's cheerful tone chimed over the speaker, "No, Douglas. Just having a bit of a sit-in. Why, did I forget to do something?"

"I seem to recall waiting eagerly upon the arrival of a deliciously bitter drink."

"Oh!" Arthur exclaimed. Douglas could hear the sound of clinking glass, which meant Arthur was rushing to get their coffees prepared. "Sorry about that, Douglas. I'll be up in a minute. Or, maybe more. Well, I can't really tell you how long to wait because I can't predict these things. But I'm making the coffee now."

"Thank you, Arthur. Don't burn yourself."

"Owww!" Too late.

In moments, Arthur bounded into the flight deck holding two cups of steaming hot coffee. Martin all but jumped out of his seat and took his beverage with haste. "Thank you, Arthur!" He flashed a sincere smile at the steward and blew gently on the top of his mug before taking a slow sip.

Arthur beamed. He didn't just smile his usual smile. He beamed so brightly Douglas was afraid the poor boy's hair would catch fire.

Well, that was an odd turn of events. Douglas took his own coffee slowly, making double sure to eye Martin and Arthur. They had been acting increasingly odd over the past couple of hours. Something must have happened between that day and the day before to make the two of them want to smile down each other's throats.

Martin probably didn't even realize it himself. He fumbled more with his coffee mug than usual, his face was almost as red as his hair, and he stumbled over his words a little more than necessary. Arthur, on the other hand, was well aware of his predicament. He hung on Martin's every word, movement and facial expression to the point that it was almost sickening. Arthur was probably back there wishing to be called back to the flight deck just to speak to Martin.

Douglas rubbed his eyes and decided he should probably just stare straight head out the flight deck window and drink his coffee. He found himself fortunate, though. Both Martin and Arthur's little show had taken his mind off more depressing matters. If what Douglas observed was what he thought he observed, this was going to be a very interesting trip, indeed. It was hard _not_ to hear their conversation.

"So, where do you want to go when we get to Lhasa, skip?"

"Oh, I… I don't know… I haven't really given it much thought."

"There are travel brochures in the galley, maybe I can bring one up here and we can look through it?"

"Well, I'm not… sure. I should be flying the plane…"

"Oh, but it's a long flight. You can spare a few minutes. The more time we spend planning here, the more time we have to look about the place when we land!"

"Arthur, that's quite… You're right! Yeah, go ahead and bring a brochure up. Why not."

"Brilliant!"

Yes, the trip would be interesting, but it could very quickly turn annoying. Silence cast itself about the flight deck for a moment. Arthur hesitated to leave because he was too busy sending facial sunbeams down at Martin, and Martin looked like he wanted to say something but didn't know what and had decided that biting his lip would help matters.

Douglas cleared his throat to break through the tension. Arthur gave Martin one last sheepish smile before turning around and leaving the flight deck.

Martin sighed a bit dramatically, as if he had been holding his breath and he could finally let all the air out of his lungs. He sipped his coffee with an annoyingly smug look on his face. When he caught Douglas staring, he grew defensive. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Douglas said as he fought desperately to hold back a grin. "I just thought of a few fun games to set my troubled mind at ease."

Martin did not look reassured.


End file.
